“But highly impractical, Mr. President. With all those guns and the weight of armorplate it would take a steam engine bigger than the wagon itself to make it move. I attempted to revise the design, with a single gun and lighter plating, but it still was not practical.”
“Thank the Lord for that. War is hellish enough now without devilish designs like this to make it even worse. Though it might mean the end of all warfare if something like this appeared on the battlefield. But you said they would be impossible to build?”
“At the present time, yes. But steam engines are getting smaller and more powerful at the same time — and I have read of successful oil-fired engines. So I would not rule out the possibility that some day an armored battle wagon like this might be built.”
“May that black and evil day never come. But you did not ask me here to discuss this strange device?”
Parrott looked worried again. When they were seated he spoke.
“Might I ask you, Mr. Lincoln, if you are acquainted with an officer of the Russian Imperial Navy by the name of Captain Schultz?”
“That is a strange question to ask. Almost as strange, I am forced to add, as the captain’s not very Russian Russian name.”
Parrott struggled with his words. Took off his metal-rimmed spectacles, wiped them and put them back on. “I am a man of honor, Mr. President, and while I enjoy my successes I do not wish to take credit for another’s work.”
“You will explain?”
“Indeed I will. Last year this gentleman visited the foundry and asked if I would make a cannon for the Russian government. I agreed and asked him what his requirements were. He was most precise. He wanted me to make a copy of the British Armstrong rifled cannon. I thought this most unusual and told him so. Told him also that I did not have access to the Britons’ secret plans. He was not disturbed at this, just nodded agreement — and turned over to me a complete set of blueprints for the Armstrong.”
“And you constructed this gun?”
“I did. The Armstrong is a unique hundred-pounder in that it is breech-loading, which makes the guns eminently practical for sea warfare.”
“And why is that?”
“If you will compare the differences between a gun on land and a gun at sea you will understand. On land, after a gun is fired, the gunners step forward and swab out the barrel and reload. But in a ship, the gun is fired through a gun port, an opening in the hull. So after each shot the gun must be run back, tons of metal you realize, swabbed out and reloaded. Then with great effort on the tackles it is run forward again into firing position.”
“I am beginning to understand.”
“Exactly. If the gun is a breechloader it will not be necessary for it to be run back inside the ship and out again with every shot. This is fine in theory, but the breech on this particular cannon sealed badly, leaking gas, and was unreliable as well. If you will look at these drawings you will see why.
“It is most cumbersome to load. Firstly, this breech screw must be slackened off to relieve the pressure on the vent piece. This is a strong metal plate that seals the open breech of the gun barrel. It is very heavy and it requires the strength of two burly men to grasp the handles and swing it up onto the saddle. After the bore is sponged out and the vent in the vent piece cleared, and reloaded with a new firing tube, a projectile is loaded through the hollow breech. A lubricator is fitted behind it that contains the black powder charge. Next the vent piece is lowered into place and the breech screw tightened. The gun is now ready to fire.”
“Complex, I agree, but surely a great advantage over the practice of running the gun back and then into position again.”
“I agree, sir, but difficulties soon arise. After a few shots the gun heats up and the parts expand. Burnt powder accumulates and the vent piece jams and leaks quantities of burning gas. After very few shots the gun becomes inoperable. After testing this weapon before delivering it to the Russians I am forced to believe that this is not the path to a successful breech-loading weapon. However there was another improvement on this gun that drew my attention. It had a banded breech to reinforce the loading mechanism. The drawings contained detailed instruction on how this banding was done.”
Parrott started to rise, thought better of it and sat again. His hands twisted together on the desk before him as he struggled to get out the words.
“It was… a few weeks later that I personally took out the patents on the first Parrott gun.”
Lincoln leaned forward and rested his hand lightly on the troubled man’s arm.
“You have nothing to berate yourself for. You did the right and correct thing. There are many ways to serve one’s government. Particularly in the time of war.”
“Then — you knew?”
“Let us say that Captain Schultz is known to the proper people. So I think we had better let the matter rest there if you please.”
“But…”
“You serve your country well, Mr Parrott. If you profit from that service it is all the better. And you may be interested to know that the British have withdrawn the Armstrong guns from service for the same reason you just mentioned.”
“I am sure that they did. However I have been improving on the design of a locking breech with what I call an interrupted thread. My first experiments have been most successful.”
“You have dispensed with the vent piece?”
“I have. Consider, if you would, how secure a breech would be if a breech-block could be screwed into place. The screw threads, in breech and block, would fit tightly against one another along a great length and contain both pressure and gas.”
“It sounds eminently practical. But would not great effort be needed to screw this large piece of metal in and out?”
“You are absolutely correct! That is why I have devised what I call an interrupted thread. Matching grooves are cut in both breech-block and breech. In operation the breech-block is slid into position — then twisted to lock.”
“Does the device work?”
“I am sure that it will — but machining is difficult and construction still at an early stage.”
“Continue your efforts by all means. And keep me informed of any future developments. Now — we will rejoin the others. I am told that you are perfecting the fuses for your explosive shells to ensure greater accuracy in timing…”
The inspection tour had scarcely begun again when an army officer hurried in and took Nicolay aside, spoke to him quickly. Parrott was explaining the operation of the new fuse when Lincoln’s secretary interrupted him.
“I’m sorry, sir, but there has been an accident. To General Ripley, Mr. President. This officer has no details, but he does forward a request for your presence at the military hospital.”
“Of course. We’ll go now. Thank you for everything, Mr. Parrott — everything.”
The ferry had been held awaiting their arrival. Two carriages were standing on the dock. In the first one the commander of West Point, Lieutenant General Winfield Scott, was waiting to escort them to the hospital. Cameron and his secretaries took the second carriage. There was an embarrassing moment when the President climbed awkwardly through the door of Scott’s carriage.
“How are you, Winfield?”
“As well as might be expected at my age, Mr. Lincoln.”
The former General-in-Chief of the Union Army, who had been replaced by the younger and more energetic McClellan, could not keep a thin bite of anger from his words as he looked grimly at the man who had ordered that replacement. Heroically fat and gray of hair, he had served his country well for many decades and through many wars. He had chosen command of West Point instead of retirement, but well knew that his years of service had effectively ended. And the tall, ungainly man in the ugly tall hat who clambered into the carriage across from him was the power that had engineered that fall.
“Tell me about Ripley,” Lincoln said as the carriage started forward.